The Reunion
by macgyvershe
Summary: One shot. Just what will happen when they finally come back together.


**The Reunion**

John sat in the flat reading the newspaper. It had been an uneventful week, but there seemed to be strangeness happening just out at the edge of his life. He couldn't place a finger on it. It was as if everything and everyone was just a bit wonky, maybe out of phase. He chalked it up to a lack of sleep or something he'd eaten.

He'd returned to the flat at Mrs. Hudson's urging. She was the one woman in his life who never ceased to amaze him with her kindness and her loving ways. Like a second mother, only better, coming in regularly to give him a warm smile and a laugh. She kept him honest about eating and taking good care of himself, even coming in regularly to 'move things around' as she said. And lately, things seemed to be moving of their own accord. John had found items moved and Mrs. Hudson swore that she hadn't touched them. Maybe a ghost in the elegant dust?

It had been hard a first. The emptiness was like a great hole in his heart. But he knew that Sherlock would have wanted him to soldier on, to be brave and continue with his life. So he did; for Sherlock. Though he hadn't been dating much. Just hadn't been much interested in much of anything. It was like something serious was missing. Or someone.

He'd kept all of Sherlock's stuff. Why he didn't know. Some of it was in boxes, some of it hung out here and there. It was all here; with him. Often John found himself touching things. The violin, the many little items scattered all over the apartment. It brought him some peace. Made him yearn for what was. It was as if Sherlock had just left on a holiday or something. That he'd be home soon to put things to right and give John adrenaline rushes and the feeling of being put upon by a tall, fair man of unconceivable intellect and the manners of a honey badger.

How long had it been now? Nearly two years. He still visited the grave once or twice a month. He'd sit down and lean against the grave stone. Talk to Sherlock like he was there listening to him. It was comforting and, of course, he always felt better for it.

People still contacted him about getting back to his blogging. What was the point without Sherlock? Face it John Watson, your life is a bit mundane without that tall scare crow pushing your buttons.

There was the door opening downstairs. It was probably Mrs. Hudson coming back from visiting her friends. Someone started up the stairs. It wasn't Mrs. Hudson. The sound was more solid. Whoever it was knew about the squeaky stair and mounted it gently so it didn't make a lot of noise.

"Hallo." John called out.

"John." A tall figure filled the door frame. His eyes were sad. He brought a smile to his lips and pulled his leather gloves off. He was just as John remembered him, only there were tiny changes, like he'd walked through fire to get to John. "Can I come in?"

"Sherlock," all the blood drained out of John. He was in shock. He got up from his chair letting the paper fall from his lap. He walked like a man in a dream; a beautiful dream. Holding out his arms he ran to Sherlock throwing his arms around the man he knew was dead.

"I can see you missed me." Sherlock mused as he hugged John back. His smile broadened into a genuine laugh. They stood that way holding each other for a very long time.

Finally, John pulled away, holding Sherlock at arm's length. "Where-the-hell-have-you-been? This isn't a hallucination is it? God, Sherlock come and let me get you a cuppa tea." John pulled him into the apartment. He couldn't seem to let go of him. Afraid that Sherlock would evaporate or was John having some kind of very powerful psychotic break?

John started shaking. Sherlock held him in a strong grip and moved him to his favorite chair.

"You sit for a moment, I'll get the tea." Sherlock said. He ventured into the kitchen and found it much as he'd left it. Setting the water to boil, he brought out the tea pot and everything necessary for tea and biscuits.

He could see that John was still wide eyed and shivering.

"Sherlock, I saw you dead. I felt no pulse. I went to your funeral. What happened? Why? Are you really walking back into my life?"

Divesting himself of his great coat, Sherlock brought the tea tray into John.

"And by the way, you look like hell, Sherlock. Answers please?"

John wanted to cry and scream and run in circles round the room, but all he could do was look at Sherlock. Like a man starved for the site of his best friend.

"Drink your tea, please and have a biscuit. I've come back from the dead, John, because of you. I had to die. Moriarty set a trap. Each of my friends would die, if I didn't commit suicide."

"I knew it!" John was ready to go out and kill Moriarty one more time for good measure. "But Sherlock, he died on the roof. He committed suicide."

"He only did it because he knew I could get the code from him that would stop his killers. He knew I'd not be any less ruthless than he was and so he took the only way out."

John was settling down now. His heart wasn't racing and suddenly he felt he wanted to weep. Not in sadness, but for joy. His tears began to flow.

"Sorry, Sherlock. I'm not unhappy, just overwhelmed."

"Quite understandable, my dear John. I know you have been through a great deal. And you've handled yourself impeccably. Now you are going to ask why I stayed 'dead' for so long; yes?"

"The whole story and please don't leave anything out." John said biting into a biscuit, which tasted amazing wonderful for the first time in a long time.

"When I left you in the street, outside of Kitty's house. Remember we had been chasing Moriarty? I went to see Molly. She was instrumental in helping me with the ruse; that and the bicyclist that ran into you. He did that on purpose to make sure you were stunned. It was all a part of my plan, one that I put together very quickly. One that I wasn't sure I'd walk away from. I had to destroy Moriarty's web. There were still traps out there. Still things he had set in motion. I had to stop everything. It took time, longer than I'd planned, but we all came out the other end, didn't we."

"Of course, there's more." Taking a thumb drive from his pocket, he hands it to John. "Each night I wrote to you, all the details, my plans and actions for that day. Every night, John, I thought of you and getting back to you. I hope that you will forgive me and let me back into your life, but I will understand if that is impossible now. It's totally your choice."

John sighed, choking back tears. "Sherlock, there is no other place for you but here with me."

"Good, I've missed Baker Street and you. Oh God how I've missed you, John."


End file.
